Last Chance Saloon
by Mage of the Heart
Summary: Another S3E8 Recovery Fic. Gene finally steps into The Railway Arms. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes, and would certainly not be in this predicament if I did!**

**So, I'm writing again… I'm really struggling with it though. I was enjoying The Art of Loving, until I realised that I couldn't just have angsty-angsty all the way through. So I tried to break from that with Enduring Hope, but then I realised that it wasn't in an angsty-angsty place. So then I looked at The Valley of the Dying Son, and became morbidly depressed… So then I came here, and I started over; maybe this will help me come to terms with Series 3 Episode 8, 3 years late.**

* * *

He stood, staring at the wooden door in awe.

It was just a door, he told himself. Much like any other door he supposed, and far more plain than most he had encountered. But this was a particularly special door, beyond which lay rest and recuperation, peace and acceptance… It had been so long in coming; so many years of wandering hopelessly, of striving to become someone of note, of never feeling quite good enough… And now here he was; finally.

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the abandoned street, the silence of the night as the stars shone vividly overhead. This was it, he thought, this was his kingdom. A part of him – a smaller part than he would have expected – longed to stay, to continue living in this utopia, this patch of land where his rule was final, his word the law… But it was only a small part. The rest of him – the rest of him knew that now was the time to let go. His head and his feet were weary, and a lifetime on the beat was starting to show. He was older, now, wiser; not the young constable with a number on his lapel, but a hardened detective, with eyes that had seen all that this world had to offer him.

No, he thought to himself, he was done here. The legacy was complete, and whoever stepped up to the plate next were welcome to it – though he had left the task of appointing his replacement to the Commissioner, seeing no point in making the decision himself; God only knew he would never have thought anyone right for the role, and he'd have been stuck here for eternity, wallowing in his own self-righteous pride. He glanced around the street one final time, seeing in his minds eye, as he did so, the string of Police Officers he had let go at this very door; there was Jimmy Ricket, the DC who had jumped in front of a pedestrian and landed in 1958; there was Alice Preet, the WPC who had been mugged on her way home from work, only to land in 1963; there was Lewis Savage; Andrew Peters; Paul Scriven; Jack 'the lad' James…

He thought of Ray; the northern copper as rough and tumble as he was, the doggedly loyal and stubbornly brave bugger who had followed him from Manchester to London without thought or question. The brash drinking partner, whose 'act-now and think later' mentality had got him into as much trouble in this world as it had in the last.

He thought of Chris; the daft, dim-witted prat with a heart the size of an ocean and the colour of gold. The source of humour and youth who, despite all of their bravado, was as loyal as he was kind, who would jump in front of a speeding bullet if you asked him to, and who had finally gone from boy to man when he met smart-alek Granger.

He thought of Annie; the bright little plonk who'd somehow managed to fit into CID, despite all of the male efforts to the contrary. The plonk with as much spunk as any bloke, and twice the determination, not to mention the patience of a saint when it came to marrying nancy-boy Tyler...

Tyler; Sam Tyler. Gene smirked, his heart swelling as he remembered his former friend, the first of his charges to really confront him, to apprehend his behaviours and disagree with his decisions. The first to make him reconsider anything, to see past the anger and the hurt that had always existed within him, but of which for so long he had had no recollection… He didn't know exactly what lay behind the door, but he hoped it included Sam, if for no other reason than to give him a good twatting round the face for leaving such a bloody great mess behind him…

_Wasn't really a mess though_, he thought, _until Alex started poking her nose in._

Alex… Alex Drake; she was one person he could scarcely bare to think of without experiencing a tightness in his chest. So he pushed the thought of her away, and focused instead on the street, drinking in every detail as he began to wonder what might lie on the other side of the door. With a deep breath, he inhaled the cool, crisp air, feeling it fill his lungs as the gentle breeze teased his face and hair. He looked at the brick wall before him, textured with cement and pebblestones, red brick and years upon years of scratch marks. He observed the broken glass bottles that littered the pavement, the crisp packets caught on the wind and flitting down the street, and he wondered briefly if there would ever be fresh, cold air against his skin again, felt a sudden wave of fear, before he considered that it was daft to be scared of dying when, in actual fact, he'd been dead for nigh on forty years.

He glanced up at the building itself, at the familiar paintwork that covered the wall, the letters as grubby as the day he'd first laid eyes on them. The Railway Arms, he thought, how very fitting. As long as he didn't have to ride any trains of course – the downside of going to the pub meant he hadn't been able to bring his new Chevrolet Caprice along with him – something about stipulations and regulations that had flown over his head, along with most of the other mumbo-jumbo the Commissioner had spouted at him- and he shuddered to think what the new DCI would do to the poor thing, but that didn't mean he'd demean himself by using public transport any time soon, heavenly or otherwise.

He kept his eyes locked on the lettering for several more minutes, before pulling them away, and looking instead at the door in front of him. Now that he looked closely, he could see that, behind the frosted glass, there appeared to be light, and in the background it sounded as though music were playing, though he couldn't hazard a guess as to the name of the song itself. There were no other noises, but then, he supposed, it was not a traditional pub, so the usual lay-abouts and drunks –of which he was usually one!- were probably chucking their guts up in a different watering hole this evening. With a deep breath to calm his nerves, and one last glance around him, he opened the door and stepped inside.

* * *

His initial reaction was one of surprise; surprise, to find his feet cushioned by a soft, downy carpet of deep red… _This best not be a United pub, _he thought to himself,_ or I'll be in and out quicker than an old man's todger! _He let his gaze travel upwards, taking in the space before him, and he frowned, struck by the familiarity of the place. The room was set up like a restaurant on this side, with small tables dressed with candles and flowers, and with booths set against brick-orange walls, covered in numerous paintings that seemed familiar and yet completely insignificant. Beyond this, there was an arch, and past the arch he could make out the polished oak of a saloon bar, behind which stood a familiar man, with dark skin and dreadlocked hair, cleaning a glass with a tea towel and smiling a white, toothy grin at him. Gene headed over, frowning slightly as he attempted to understand what on earth was going on, his legs moving slowly, and yet eating up the surprisingly small space between himself and the bar more quickly than he could have anticipated.

"Welcome," Nelson grinned, an all-out smile on his features as he nodded behind him to the wide expanse of spirits, liqueurs and bottles of plonk gathered for perusal. "What can I get yer, mon brav?"

Gene placed his hands on the bar, bracing his shoulders momentarily as he considered his surroundings, then nodded. "Pint o' bitter an' a whiskey chaser," he answered. "An' if heaven's a bloody pub, it better be a ruddy nice one too!" He looked around again, a frown upon his features as he added, "is it always this dead in 'ere?"

Nelson's eyebrows raised, apparently amused by the irony as he placed a freshly pulled pint in front of Gene, and followed it up with a tumbler of whiskey, from a bottle Gene had never seen before. _No surprises there, _he thought, taking a swig of the beer and enjoying the coolness of it as it slipped down his throat.

"Not always, Mister Hunt," Nelson said, his accent still in place as he leaned forwards almost conspiratorially. "But most people like a drink before they pass through…" He nodded towards a door, which Gene had previously assumed to be leading towards the toilets.

"What, alone?" There was indignation in his voice, and Nelson chuckled at him, as he had done many times over the years.

"I can open up for you, if you'd like?" Nelson's eyes seemed all-knowing, more so than they had ever done before, and Gene frowned.

"Open up? I don't want no random faggot's an' 'airy fairies 'anging around the place if that's what you're talking about!" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette, noting that there were only three left. He considered this for just a moment, before lighting it up, a plume of smoke issuing from the end as he shook his head again.

"You know, Guv, those things'll kill you!" The familiar voice, sounding from just behind Gene, caused him to choke on the cigarette fumes, spluttering and gasping as he turned around.

For a moment, he didn't quite believe his eyes; stood there, in the black leather jacket, the poncy button up shirt that he never did all the way up, and the brown drainpipe trousers that ought to have been illegal for anyone but a woman, was Sam Tyler. Sam was smiling, that cocky, knowing smile that had somehow had the ability to piss off and amuse Gene all at once, and holding a Party Seven in his hands.

"They'll be 'ard pushed since I'm dead as a dodo in a poultry shop!" Gene retorted out of habit, in a vague attempt to recollect his senses and come to terms with the bizarre encounter.

Sam smirked, walking forwards and putting the tin on the bar with a nod to Nelson. "Think I owe the Guv a drink, Nelson!" He said.

"Think you owe me more than bloody one yer cheeky git!"

Sam laughed, shaking his head in amusement as he held out a hand in greeting; Gene met his eyes, seeing the friendship and the loyalty that had brought them just outside these doors what felt like so long ago, and the tension that had carried over the threshold with him disappeared. With one gloved hand, he returned Sam's grip, just as his DI smiled at him, his eyes full of warmth as he spoke. "Welcome to The Railway Arms, Guv," Sam's voice was soft and gentle before he added, "or, as we like to call it, the big boozer in the sky!"

Gene frowned, eyebrows knitting together as he glanced at Nelson in surprise. "We?"

"Well you didn't expect me to let him alone in the afterlife, did you Guv, with all these gorgeous women running about?" Annie's voice was as soft and light as ever, and Gene spun around to meet her, shock replaced with a flirtatious smirk as he looked her up and down.

"Bloody 'ell Flashknickers," he grinned, nodding approvingly at her tight skirt and jumper. "I always said our Sammy was punching above 'is weight!"

Annie's tinkling laugh was a balm to the ears, and as she slipped over to the bar, pressing a swift, welcoming kiss to Gene's cheek, before slipping comfortably into the circle of Sam's arms, Gene felt warmth spread through him, reaching to his fingers and toes as the familiar sight filled his vision. He'd never admit it to Tyler, or anybody else for that matter, but in a sudden flash, he realised just how much he had missed them. After taking a moment to savour the fierce joy rushing through him, and making sure to compose his features into his familiarly sulky pout, he nodded to the Party Seven waiting patiently on the bar.

"You gunna open that then Sammy boy, or am I gunna spend the afterlife in a state of extended thirst?"

"Can't 'ave a party seven without seven, Guv," Chris's voice was as matter of fact and light as ever, filled with a certainty of cause, followed almost immediately by, "that's how it goes, ain't it?"

Before Gene had even managed to turn around, he heard a familiar simpering voice reply, "I don't think so, baby!" and turned to find the couple standing in front of him, arms around one another's waists. Behind them, sporting his trademark turtleneck jumper, Gene was certain he saw Ray mouthing the word 'twonks'.

"Where the bloody 'ell are you all coming from?" Gene demanded, looking at the floor and the walls and half expecting a trap door or a tunnel to suddenly appear in front of him. "I already got rid of you miserable buggers once! I thought dying was meant to be peaceful!" Now, all of a sudden, the saloon bar seemed filled with faces, faces that Gene thought he had forgotten, but that came to mind as easily as if he had seen them yesterday. There was Lewis, and Alice, and Jack, and numerous other young faces, all gathered around one table with a drink in their hands, raising a glass to him with smiles on their faces. There was Phyllis, still big, still sporting that horrendous woolly jumper that made Gene want to strangle her! There was Poirot, the most recent to leave Gene's London team, smoking quietly and sedately in the corner as he chatted to none other than DCI Litton, whose tribunal had been waylaid after Keats' disappearance, and who, in the hope of never seeing his face again, Gene had taken to The Railway Arms.

"If this is heaven," Gene asked coarsely, "then why the bloody hell can I smell Paco Rabanne with a hint of nancy?"

Litton, it seemed, chose not to respond, simply sending a begrudgingly respectful nod in Gene's direction, before turning his body to face as far away as possible. Gene grunted his approval, and turned back to Ray, whose grin was as bright as the stars he had just been observing.

"Wait 'til you see the tits on some o' these birds, Guv," he grinned, waving his cigarette in the direction of the room at large. "Proper pair-sonality on the red-head over there!" He appeared to be groping thin air in an attempt to demonstrate just how fantastic the said breasts were, and Gene smiled half-heartedly as he held out a hand.

"Guessin' the afterlife agrees with you then, Raymondo?" he asked, shaking the other man's hand with a smirk.

Ray grinned almost guiltily. "Don't get me wrong Guv, I miss it out there, but 'ave you seen the tits on WPC Preet? It's like living in a porno film!"

Gene nodded half-heartedly, his eyes scanning the familiar faces, accepting handshakes and gruff murmurs of appreciation, offers of drinks – which, it turned out, cost nothing in the first place – and reminiscence of old times. Gene listened and responded in his usual gruff manner, but the entire time, one eye was peeled, searching for the one face that seemed to evade him.

"Are we cracking open this Party Seven or what, Guv?" Sam's voice broke through the reverie of thought that seemed to have consumed Gene's mind, and he turned back to the bar, his features schooled into an expression of approval, whilst in actual fact, his stomach seemed to have twisted itself so tightly he felt nauseous.

"Boss, what about-?" Chris was cut off mid-sentence as Sam produced a chisel and a hammer, as if from nowhere, and handed them both to Gene.

"Fancy doing the honours, Guv?" He asked, grinning.

Gene, though still put out, smiled to himself. "Can't let you get yer nancy fingers on it, Tyler," he answered, aligning the chisel firmly. "Won't be anythin' left to drink!" With a nod to Annie he added, "get yer arse in the spray, Cartwright, an' we'll make this a real party!"

Ray guffawed, Chris chuckled, and Shaz looked shocked; Sam and Annie simply raised their eyebrows, a simultaneous movement that made Gene roll his eyes. "So much for bloody heaven!" He muttered, and brought the hammer down with a swift strike.

* * *

It was a few hours later – or maybe it was minutes? There didn't seem to be any method of timekeeping - and even though Gene thought he had had the best part of eight pints, he felt surprisingly clear-headed, though he could not say the same for Chris and Ray, who appeared to be equally inebriated, as Ray leered drunkenly at several of the WPC's chatting at the bar, and Chris murmured drunken declarations of love in an embarrassed but clearly pleased Shaz's ear. Sam was tipsily flirting with Annie, and Gene felt no inclination to disturb them.

In fact, he felt a sudden desire to sit down, and, without a word to the others, who had, until now, kept him thoroughly entertained, he slipped through the mass of police officers, postponing several drinks offers and attempting to avoid being caught up in conversation with anyone, until finally he stepped out of the bar and into the dining area that had so intrigued him earlier. The room was softly lit now, with candles flickering timelessly on each table, and the din of the next room seemed to fade slowly away, until it was nothing more than a soft rumble in the background. He breathed a sigh of relief, heading automatically for the corner table, only to stop dead in his tracks, finding it already occupied, by none other than Alex Drake.

* * *

She had decided, it seemed, to revert back to curly hair, framing her delicate, pale face with soft tendrils of brown. Her eyes were subtly highlighted, her makeup, whatever it was, making the hazel of her eyes look almost gold, deep and rich, and filled with an emotion that caused Gene's stomach to flip and twist. Her lips were a deep red, and his eyes were drawn to them immediately, his mind suddenly bursting with the memory of their soft warmth pressed against his own, and the gentle touch of her soft hands on his cheek… His gut wrenched, and once again he was forced to wonder what on earth had possessed him to let her go.

She stood up slowly, stepping around the table and holding her hands almost nervously at her waist. Gene's eyes were drawn to the familiar curves, the shape of her ass, the gentle roundness of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist, all wrapped in a sensual black dress that flattered every contour of her slim body, paired with red accessories that matched her lips and caused his mouth to dry up. He inwardly berated his own stupidity, seized with an overwhelming desire to go back to that moment outside and change his mind…

"Bloody 'ell Bols," he said instead, "if I'd known you were gunna be dressin' ter the nines, I'd 'ave come 'ere sooner!"

"I was beginning to wonder if you ever would," she admitted almost shyly, her familiar smile breaking across her face, flashing brilliantly white teeth that sparkled almost as brightly as her eyes.

Gene swallowed slightly, his hand flying up to play with his hair before he muttered, almost embarrassed, "I- I thought yer'd given it a miss, if I'm honest, Bolly."

Alex smiled almost indulgently at him, "no, Gene, I wouldn't have missed this," she said softly.

"What is 'this' exactly?" he asked, glancing around the trattoria again and frowning slightly. "Looks bloody familiar, but -!"

"It's Luigi's," she laughed, smiling. "This is your party; your pub."

"'ey?" He frowned, glancing back to Alex. "My pub?"

"When I got here, it looked like TJ'S; I had my first drink there… First kiss, too, as a matter of fact!" She smiled at him, seeing his eyebrows fly up into his hairline as she went on. "For Shaz it was a particularly distasteful nightclub, and for Sam and the others, I think it was your Railway Arms, back in Manchester; we thought that's what you'd pick, too!"

"I didn't pick anything Bols," Gene argued, shaking his head; "if I never see another steak an' chips pizza as long as I'm dead, I'll be bloody relieved!"

Alex laughed, a tinkling warm sound that sent shivers of delight down Gene's spine. "Well, I'm sure there'll be something more to your tastes on the menu if you're hungry."

"You askin' me on another date, Bollykecks?" He queried, one eyebrow raised as she indicated the chair nearest to the wall. He didn't protest though, and slid into the now understandably familiar seat with ease, loosening his tie as he went.

"Actually, I wasn't asking," she informed him, lowering herself elegantly into the chair opposite and folding her legs across one another with apparent ease. Gene made a noise in his throat, unsure whether it was approval or amusement, but smirking as he picked up the red leather menu on the table.

* * *

"So Gene," she was leaning forward, her empty plate pushed to one side as she rested her chin on her hand, running the fingers of her other hand around the glass of white wine before her, her eyes locked on his with a fascination and warmth that unnerved him. "Did you miss me?"

He blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in conversation – thus far it had been small talk, exchanging stories, reminiscing, neither of them referring to any of the unanswered questions he was sure they both had. His own posture was mirroring hers, and his eyes were soft as he considered her for a moment – he took in the smirk playing at the corner of her lips, the almost knowing questioning tilt of her head, and the elegant fingers tracing so delicately around the fragile glass. He thought about all that she had ever been to him – a pain in the arse, mostly, he thought, but a damned good copper, and a more than adequate drinking partner. She'd been smart, frustrating and beautiful all at once, with a wicked sense of humour and an arse to rival Brit Eckland… He'd even come to appreciate her outright disagreement with everything he said, in a bizarrely warped sort of way.

And he'd let her go; until this evening, he had tried to forget just how much it had cost him, but staring into her eyes in this moment, he recalled the torment that had thrummed within every fibre of his being, the cold trickle of blood through his veins as he had watched her step over that threshold, as his entire world had collapsed… He'd worked so hard to forget her, and at times, he had almost believed he could do it… But then he'd be reminded of her, through the smell of leather, or the taste of champagne, or a particularly nice arse in the street, and he'd realise it all over again with a sudden rush of self-loathing, and his only comfort was to tell himself that she would be better off there, that she'd be happy…

"Like a hole in the head, Bolly," he answered drily, taking a swig of wine. Alex smiled in answer, lifting her own glass delicately to her lips.

"Well, we both know what that feels like, don't we Guv?" Her voice was soft, playful, but he could tell that she was beginning to broach the as yet unspoken subject of their mutual demise – a bullet through the brain, which had brought them together in this bizarre and abnormal world of anomalies and confusion.

"See your warped sense of humours still intact," he answered, smirking slightly.

"Well, I've had a lot of time to come to terms with it," Alex replied, her voice slightly quieter, more loaded. He knew what she meant, and he grimaced, hearing the silent question in her voice.

"You couldn't 'ave stayed, Alex," he told her, feeling the familiar pain in his gut as it twisted with guilt. "Not how it works, see…"

"You stayed," she told him softly.

"Yeah, well what a right barrel of laughs that turned out to be!"

"It could have been," she murmured, "if I'd been there, we could have been-!"

"We already were, Bolly," he told her, meeting her eyes with resolution in his own. "We were good, Bols; we were bloody fantastic – but you couldn't 'ave stayed."

"Why not?" She asked softly, the question burning on her lips and insistent in her eyes. "Why did I have to leave? I wasn't ready, Gene."

"Nor was I, Alex." His eyes were dark with meaning, bright blue and striking as she met his eyes, and Gene thought he heard a hitch of her breath before she carried on.

"So why couldn't I stay?" She whispered, and Gene was aware that her hand wasn't on her glass anymore, but in the middle of the table, almost begging to be held… He ignored it, swallowing hard.

"Thought you'd be happier 'ere," he shrugged, dropping his gaze from hers, but berating himself a moment later as he saw her hand, still resting on the table, fingers slightly extending, as though waiting to allow something into their grasp. With a mental jerk, he pulled his eyes back up to hers, seeing the sad complacency in their depths as she shook her head.

"I rather missed you, Gene," she said it so softly, he barely heard the words, but he felt their meaning as it exploded around him, bathing him in a warm glow.

"Yeah," he nodded shortly, suddenly finding the courage to cover her hand with his own, electricity thrumming through him at the feeling of her warm, soft skin, "likewise, Bollykecks."

* * *

**Feel free to review :-)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes, and would certainly not be in this predicament if I did!**

**Thanks for the comments on chapter one. This came together a bit faster than expected. I hope the pacing is ok. There were so many things I could have done with this, but I am hoping this will satisfy any shippers out there. It has helped me. A little bit. Ish. Not that much.**

* * *

After a few moments of looking into her eyes, feeling the insecurity and wonderment that always overtook him under her scrutiny, Gene wet his mouth, swallowing against the sudden dryness and nervousness in his throat as he jerked his head towards the saloon bar and the still quietened din of his other companions.

"Buy you a drink?" He suggested, squeezing her hand lightly, almost tentatively, as he did so.

Alex smiled, and nodded, proceeding to rise from her seat, but maintaining her steady grip on his hand. He didn't contest it, nor did he complain when, upon stepping up next to him, Alex wrapped her fingers around his own. He met her eyes, noted the expression on her face, watched her eyebrows flying up into her hairline questioningly. With a pout, he shrugged.

"Need to stop you fallin' over yer own arse, Bolly," he explained, nodding back to their table as his grip on her hand tightened perceptibly. "You're already a bottle o' plonk worse fer wear, remember?"

Alex, the corner of her mouth lifted into a knowing smile, clasped his hand tighter in response. "I'll be as undignified as humanly possible," she promised, her voice teasing. Gene frowned, running his eyes up and down her form appreciatively.

"Dressed like that, Bols, I find it unlikely…" After another quick once over, he nodded, face returning to his traditional pout, before leading the way over to the bar, his strides long and determined. If Alex had any kind of hesitation, she didn't voice it, and she followed in his wake with her hand resting familiarly in his own.

* * *

"Bottle of Bollinger, Nelson," Gene said, dropping Alex's hand at the bar and bracing himself briefly against it, glancing sidelong at her and catching her amused smile. She was stood close enough that he could still feel the warmth emanating from her body, and he savoured it, his hand finding her waist briefly, tugging her slightly closer, before dropping back to his side. She didn't argue, made no attempt to address the situation in the slightest, but he was relieved to find that she did not move away, simply accepting the glass of champagne from him with a coy smile.

"You know, I'd never had Bolly before I met you," Alex teased, smiling as Gene picked up his own glass and narrowed his eyes at her.

"D'you know, I don't believe you Bols," he held his glass out to her suggestively as he added. "'ere's to your posh derriere then, Bollykecks."

She smiled indulgently, clinking her glass against his as she nodded. "And to your insufferable one, Guv!"

His lip twitched, the ghost of a smile reaching his eyes before he said, in an undertone that nobody but Alex could hear, "you an' me, Bols."

Her own smile was brimming with silent emotion as she added, "unbreakable."

There was a moment of understanding, a silence in which their eyes said all the sentiments that their mouths could not, before Gene clinked his glass lightly against hers once more, not letting his gaze drop from her own as he took a sip of the sweet champagne and allowed himself to enjoy the gentle fizz against his tongue.

* * *

"Is it what you expected?" She asked a little while later, both of them propped against the bar and nursing a tumbler full of amber whiskey. In response to his questioning frown, she nodded around them, to the bar and all that it contained. "Is this what you were imagining, when you sent people in here?"

Gene thought for a moment, his eyes boring intensely into hers, before he shrugged. "It's got a saloon bar," he pointed out, cocking one eyebrow at her; she grinned, shaking her head at him.

"That's not what I meant," she said softly.

He watched her for a moment, swallowing slightly against the lump in his throat, before nodding. "I know, Bols," he murmured. A moment later, he dropped his eyes, looking almost guilty as he replied. "Ter tell yer the truth, I tried not to imagine it at all."

Alex's hand was but a few inches from his on the bar, and he felt her move it subtly, placing it just to the side, so that their fingers were touching ever so slightly, providing a ready source of comfort that he gladly accepted. "But if you had," she asked softly, "would this have been… it?"

He lifted his eyes again, tracking up her face, and the familiar features that it held. He observed her again, gulping a little, and then pouting slightly. "If I'd imagined heaven Bolly, it'd involve you, me, an' a bottle of oil, an' none o' these tossers'd get a look in."

Alex flushed visibly, her ivory skin pinking slightly, causing a hum of satisfaction to reverberate through Gene's chest. Before she could respond to him, however, a bell began to ring for last orders, and there was a sudden rush of people, moving towards the bar with the intention of one final drink before doors closed. He was considering this, wondering where it was he was supposed to go after closing, when a particularly rowdy young group that he recognised from the sixties – mostly through their psychedelic clothing – fell against him. With a dark, angry glower, he grabbed Alex's hand, ignoring the surprised look on DC Childs face as he pulled her away from the clamouring crowd.

"Over here Guv, Ma'am!" Chris's voice was slightly slurred, but easily recognisable, and they turned to see him, Shaz, Sam and Annie gathered around a nearby table. Ray, it seemed, was otherwise engaged, chatting to a buxom blonde in an animated fashion that led Gene to believe he was discussing tits. With a sigh, Gene pulled Alex in their direction, and Shaz beamed up at them as though all of her Christmases had come at once.

"Oh Ma'am, you look beautiful!" She gushed, her smile wide and bright as she spoke. "Doesn't she, Guv?"

"Like a diamond in dog shit, Granger," Gene drawled dryly in response, slipping into the booth beside Sam, who was smirking into his pint. "Who's been tossin' you off Tyler? You're grinnin' like the Cheshire Cat in heat!"

Sam grinned at Annie, almost conspiratorially, and Gene almost made a grimace of revulsion, before his former DI shook his head. "Nobody, Guv," he answered shortly, still smiling as he continued to drain the rest of his drink.

Gene's eyes narrowed and, as Alex slid in next to him, her knee resting gently against his, he went on. "In that case, you can get the next round in!"

Without argument, Sam stood up, still grinning, and moved off to the bar with an amused Annie in tow. Chris, who had scooted up slightly in the booth now that the others had left, stared at them momentarily, flitted his eyes from Gene's gruff expression, to Alex's shy smile, and then to Gene's arm, which was now draped behind Alex's back, resting on the back of the seat, barely touching her, and yet seeming to envelop her, if the look on Chris's face was anything to go by. He had been halfway through lifting his drink to his lips, and as he drew back in surprise, he proceeded to slosh beer down his front. Shaz was there a moment later, mopping it up with a tea towel as though from nowhere.

"Guv... Ma'am…" Chris stared at them in surprise, his eyes wide. "Guv, you're touchin' DI Drake!"

"We'll make a detective of you yet, Skelton," Gene replied gruffly. "Any other nuggets of pearly wisdom you'd like to share with us?"

Chris was looking at him blankly, apparently still stunned. Gene was saved the unsavoury task of listening to another commentary as Ray slipped into the booth opposite him, his expression sour as, without waiting for a lull in conversation, he began talking.

"You'd think in heaven of all places, you might be able to get a decent shag!" His complaints only served to confirm Gene's earlier suspicions as to the nature of his conversations with the blonde, and he couldn't help but smirk.

"Well perhaps if you complimented her on her personality rather than her breasts, she'd be more inclined to allow you to look at them," Alex's voice was amused and playful, and Ray glowered slightly.

"You women are too bloody complicated!" He protested. "If a guy doesn't tell you yer look nice, he's an idiot; if a guy tells you yer've got great tits, he's a perv!"

"Well generally speaking, the kind of men who go around complimenting women on their 'great tits'-!" she did that familiarly frustrating finger waggle, and Gene grimaced silently "-_are_ pervs!"

"Thought we were meant to get a break from all this psycho-babble now, Guv?" Ray directed the question at Gene, who smirked.

"Never argue with a psychiatrist, Raymondo," he replied, avoiding the question and grinning suddenly as Sam returned, bearing a tray laden with beer, wine and whiskey.

"It's Psychologist," Alex muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear; Gene looked at her for a very brief moment, seeing the silent challenge in her eyes, then smirked.

"D'you know, I'd forgotten what a right pain in my left bollock you could be, Bollyknickers?"

"I doubt it, Guv," she smiled, accepting the glass of wine he offered her. For a moment, he held her gaze, flitting from her eyes to her lips with an intensity and desire he could not seem to quell. She was looking at him in the same way, her tongue peeking out just enough to wet her full lips, and Gene found himself wishing that they were alone, that the others were a million miles away, and that he could act on the seemingly magnetic impulse that was attempting to draw him towards her…

"We'd better get going soon, Guv," Sam's voice shattered the moment like a mallet to glass, and Gene tore his gaze away with a deep breath, looking at Sam, now seated opposite him, with a frown.

"Get goin' to where, exactly?" He asked, glancing around and half expecting a staircase to appear with directions to bedrooms. "There's not even a bloody front door!"

Sam chuckled, pointing to the door behind the bar, the one Nelson had indicated earlier in the evening. "Through there, Guv; that's the way out."

"Way out to bloody where?"

Sam, Annie and the others all exchanged looks, apparently thinking carefully on what to say. Eventually, Sam answered with a simple, "on."

The single word was enough to silence the entire table, and a numbness settled over Gene for several moments, an ominous cloud hanging over his head. After a few minutes, he asked, "on to what?"

It was Alex that answered him, and he was vaguely aware of her hand on his thigh, a distant, yet reassuringly warm presence. "Just on, Gene," she whispered, her voice soft and sweet. "It's impossible to explain, but…"

"It's not scary, Guv," Chris piped up, taking another drink of beer and looking momentarily queasy as he burped, before continuing. "It's like- like floatin'…"

"Floatin' through stars," Shaz added, her voice light and airy. "It's relaxing!"

"Nah, Guv," Ray shook his head, "it's like floatin' around in a sea o' tits..."

"It's nice, Guv," Annie put in, smiling reassuringly. "It's like fallin' asleep cuddled up, with the fire on; it's all warm, an' cosy!" She looked at Sam, and they exchanged a loving gaze.

"It's like being happy, Gene," Sam added after a moment, looking away from Annie and into Gene's eyes. "Like being in a very warm, happy bubble…"

Gene was grimacing. "This may well be the biggest load of soppy-ass bollocks I've ever heard in my life… or death for that matter!"

Sam grinned and shook his head. "You'll like it, Guv; and you can come back here and drink whenever it's open."

"An' how exactly will I know if the pubs open, when I'm floating around in la-la-land like a fairy on crack?"

"You get invited, Guv," Chris answered, smiling simply.

"Invited?" The outrage in Gene's voice was almost comical. "Who gets_ invited_ to a bloody pub?! It's a boozer, not a bloody wedding! It's-!"

The bell rang again, and Gene was distracted as, almost immediately, the officers he had spent years delivering safely to this very place downed their drinks, raised their hands in farewell, and began drifting casually towards the door, some stepping through in groups, others alone, others in couples with their hands held loosely between them. They walked as calmly and as comfortably as though they were simply heading home, laughing under the influence of alcohol and giddy with good company.

"Goodnight, Nelson," someone called across the bar, and the barman smiled, collecting up the glasses and waving a hand casually in reply.

"Goodnight, mon brav!"

The crowd slowly melted away, and Gene watched it all with a morbid fascination, a curiosity he couldn't fathom, as the people he had known began to slip through the door, closing it behind them and appearing to vanish into mid-air.

It was Ray who stood first from their table, his gaze firmly on the arse of the same blonde that had previously rejected him, now stood chatting to her friend quite happily at the bar, one eye on the door to see when the queue lessened. "See yer later, Guv," he said, adjusting his jeans and narrowing his eyes in a predatory manner. "Got a bird to poach!" Within seconds, and without another glance, he had strolled over to the bar, and was proceeding to remember himself to the blonde. A few moments later, when the queue had died down and she was able to, she slipped away and practically ran through the door; Ray, looking sulky and depressed, raised a grudging hand in farewell to Gene's table, and followed suit. The door closed behind him, and Gene stared, a part of him still expecting something spectacular to happen.

Nothing did.

"What, that's it?" He asked, shocked. "I gave up poaching scum, an' prozzies, an' ruddy _football_ to walk out of a bloody _door_?!"

"Dunno what you're worried about, Guv," Chris said, standing up and taking Shaz's hand in his own as they made to head towards the exit themselves. "Everyone 'ere says City get really bad after the 80s anyway." With his usual smile, he raised his free hand. "Night Guv;" he nodded to Gene; "Ma'am;" he nodded at Alex, "Boss…" and at Sam… Then he looked at Annie, and frowned. "Erm… Night, Annie!"

Giggling, Shaz followed suit, waving warmly. "Night all!" Leaning forward conspiratorially, Shaz whispered something to Alex, who proceeded to giggle. A moment later, the couple walked towards the door, arms around one another's waists, Chris pressing a gentle kiss to Shaz's forehead as they stepped through. The door closed behind them, and Gene turned to Alex, his eyes narrow.

"What's so funny then, Bols?" He asked, eyebrow raised. Alex smiled.

"Apparently there's a store cupboard round the corner," she said, leaning forward on her elbow and cocking her eyebrow. Gene, who had just taken another sip of beer, spluttered.

"You bloody wh-?"

"We're off, Guv," Sam said, standing up and pulling Annie into him with an arm around her waist. Gene looked at him for a moment, wondering if there was something he ought to say, some meaningful crap that might explain how grateful he was to Sam for everything… But Sam answered his own question for him, extending his hand. "We'll talk soon, Guv."

Gene felt a rush of gratitude, and stood to take Sam's hand, nodding his understanding; they'd see each other again – what was the use in embarrassing themselves with nancy bollocks now?

"See yer round, Tyler," he nodded. "Night, Annie love." He leaned over to kiss her cheek, and smiled when she beamed up at him.

"Don't stay out too late, Guv," she told him playfully. A moment later, she and Sam were at the door. Gene took a moment to watch them, observing the way Sam murmured in Annie's ear as they went. He saw her smile, saw her response, and knew what had been said immediately.

A moment later, the two of them left the pub, leaving just Alex, Gene, and Nelson, in the otherwise empty saloon bar.

* * *

"I'll be closing up now, Mister Hunt," Nelson said a few minutes later. "Let yourselves out, whenever you're ready!"

Gene nodded, still observing the now still and silent door through which his friends and colleagues had disappeared.

"Bar's open, if you're thirsty," Nelson added to Alex, smiling warmly. She returned the gesture, her eyes showing her gratitude as Gene simply frowned. The two of them watched for a few moments as Nelson put away glasses, and dishcloths, and coasters, before heading for the door, and letting himself out.

It shut behind him with a dull thud, and suddenly, the room seemed very quiet.

* * *

After a few minutes, Gene shook himself, apparently returning to his senses as he stood up, holding out a hand to Alex, and then pulling her behind the bar, hand still in hers, even as he scouted the large liquor collection. "Fancy a whiskey, Bolly?" he asked, eventually selecting a bottle of Glenmorangie and setting it on the side next to two tumblers.

Alex nodded, and proceeded to hold the glasses for him as he poured two very generous measures. For a few moments, they were companionably silent, sipping their drinks delicately, Gene's eyes never leaving hers. Then, eventually, having drained his drink and set the glass on the bar, he spoke.

"So." He said, arms braced against the bar.

Alex smiled. "So..?"

There was a moment where he looked at her, his expression thoughtful, considering, and then he spoke again.

"Is this it then, Bols?" He asked, his arms suddenly tense. Alex hesitated only a moment, before setting her glass down next to his, finding his hand with her own and stepping forward into the reach of his arms. Gratitude welled up in his chest, and his spare hand immediately found her waist, pulling her slightly closer to him as he locked his gaze on hers.

"Yes, Gene," she replied softly, her hand reaching up to touch his face, stroking down his cheek almost hesitantly, warm against his skin, the action filled with a tenderness that made him ache for her, filled with pent up longing. She traced the lines of his face with the tips of her fingers, speaking in a soft, gentle voice. "This is it… Our last few seconds on earth… What should we do?"

He met her eyes with burning intensity, transported in an instant back to Luigi's, to a drunken evening where she had posed him this question once before, and he'd had no answer to give. Now, knowing what lay ahead of them, and yet all too aware that they really had no idea at all, his head swam with all of the things he had ever wished he'd done sooner, more, less, better… But the most prominent thought – the one that obliterated the need for anything else, the one that possessed his entire body and caused his heart to thrum with nervous excitement, was of her.

He considered, in a heartbeat, all of the moments where his resolve had weakened, all the missed chances, the second-thoughts, the outright chivalrous and yet completely ridiculous moments when he had resisted acting upon the feelings coursing through his veins. He recalled the touch of her ice cold skin as he prepared to take her mouth with his after rescuing her from that freezer; he remembered the scent of her hair as she draped her arm across him in the vault; the feel of her slender body beneath his as he'd thrown himself on top of her; the gentle touch of her hand as it slid from his grasp; the sound of her laughter across the restaurant table; the weight of her in his arms, more times than he cared to remember… Dancing in her flat, filled with so much joy and expectation, only to have the rug pulled from under his feet… And kissing her; that final kiss goodbye that had been so soft, delicate, tentative, and yet lacking in all of the passion, lust and desire he'd felt for her since day one.

She was looking at him, her eyes questioning, and with sudden resolve and certainty, Gene took another step forwards, invading her personal space and surprising her as one hand wound into her hair and the other tugged her tightly into him. His eyes tracked swiftly over her face – the hazel eyes that stared up at him with a combination of expectation and surprise, the delicate nose and cheekbones that gave her face such a perfectly crafted appearance, and the red lips that had haunted his dreams and burned into his fantasies, that were now opened slightly, wet from the unconscious path of her tongue. His eyes locked on hers briefly, a fantastic, smouldering gaze that left no doubt as to his intention, before he dipped his head, locking his mouth to hers and feeling her hands clench on his shoulders as he did so.

* * *

Her mouth was warm and soft, tasting of sweetness, and spice, and alcohol. The taste of her consumed him, setting him on fire with passion and desire that had been so long withheld. His mouth was both hard and soft on hers, filled with desperation and need, and compassion and tenderness, all at once. His hands were tangled in her hair, cradling her face as he deepened the kiss even further, trying to convey, with every flick of his tongue and caress of his mouth, all of the complicated and wonderful feelings that she had ever roused in him. He could feel her responding to him, feel her knees begin to tremble as her own hands wound themselves into the short blonde locks of his hair. As he held her, he felt her heart pounding against her ribcage, hammering out a drumbeat that he knew matched his own. His arms were tight around her back, drawing her ever closer as she whimpered and sighed against his mouth, her trembling breath teasing across his lips as she moved her mouth eagerly against his.

Kissing her was like coming home. Suddenly, in a moment of raw, blinding emotion, Gene was struck with the knowledge that this was where he belonged, where he should have been since day one, and he'd wasted so much time in getting here… He didn't want to waste another second.

* * *

They broke apart a while later, gasping and panting, their hair in disarray and clothes dishevelled. Alex clung to the front of his shirt, her knees shaking, lips slightly swollen. Gene held her against him, as much for his own support as for hers, his blue eyes burning with molten passion as he attempted to regain his composure, to catch his breath… She looked up at him with admiration and wonder, and Gene was struck once again by her beauty as he brushed a stray hair from her cheek. He searched for something to say, for words that might express the intensity of feeling that rushed through him, breaking over him and completely possessing him, but for once words failed him, and he settled for staring at her, watching the lips he had so recently claimed as they opened and closed in quick succession, gasping for air.

Eventually, he shook his head dazedly, hands on her cheeks as he rested his forehead gently against hers. "Bloody 'ell, Bolly," he murmured, still slightly breathless. "If I wasn't dead before, I sure am now…"

Her laugh was as hitched as his own, her hands shaking slightly as they moved over his chest, his shoulders, his face, and he could only stare at her, his stomach twisting with regret as he realised that they could have had years of this…

"Gene…" She whispered, stroking his cheek tenderly. He stared at her, seeing all of his emotions – relief, regret, joy, elation – mirrored in her gaze. He could only nod, pressing his lips softly against her forehead, his next words like a breath of warm air against her cool temple.

"I know."

* * *

They stood in front of the door, Gene nursing another glass of whiskey as Alex stood patiently at his side, her fingers entwined tenderly with his own. He was staring at the plain wood, the battered door handle, the chipped frame, and he wondered how it afforded to be so tedious, when right behind it lay an afterlife of the unknown, a prospect he was still struggling to get his head around. With a deep breath, he placed his empty tumbler on the bar and turned to Alex, his eyes questioning.

"You never said what it was like for you, Bols," he said, trailing his fingers hesitantly and affectionately through her hair, a gesture so foreign to him that he felt almost giddy with nerves.

Alex closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle tickle of his hand in her hair, before smiling up at him, blushing slightly, and then pointedly averting her eyes. "No," she confessed softly, "No I didn't…"

Gene waited patiently, his hand stilling on her cheek, eyes intent upon her face, noting the way she bit her lip almost hesitantly before she said anything further.

"It's like dancing," she said, barely louder than a whisper, still not daring to meet his eyes as her voice cracked slightly, her hand coming to rest delicately on his chest, above the gentle thump of his heart. "It's like I'm back dancing with you."

Gene felt himself hum appreciatively, felt the familiar warmth spread through to his fingers and toes, and gently pulled her into his arms, closing his eyes as her smell invaded his senses, filling him with wonder and joy as he buried his face in her hair, his mouth next to her ear, warm breath teasing across her skin as he spoke. "Sounds like heaven to me, Bols."

He felt her smile, felt her turn her face into his neck and press a soft, lingering kiss to his pulse, and he held her for a moment, savouring her closeness and relishing the feel and smell of her. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice gruff. "And if you ever tell any of them daft poofs what I just said, I will personally see to it that spend the afterlife strung up on that bar by yer knicker elastics. Got that?"

"Yes, Guv," she answered, and he could hear the smile in her voice. He drew back slowly, finding her hand with his, and squeezing tentatively.

"Come on then, Bollinger Knickers," he murmured, eyes fixed on hers even as his spare hand reached for the door handle. "You still owe me a dance."

Alex smiled at him, her eyes glistening slightly as she nodded.

"Yes, I do."

With that, he opened the door.

* * *

**You will have to excuse my shippy heart for going soppy and mirroring loads of moments from the series. It helped. A little… Enough that I have just purchased S3 for a rewatch, anyway… I might regret that one.**

**Please review.**

**Mage of the Heart**


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